


string of letters (a tether and a fetter)

by roraruu



Series: Father’s Daughter [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Background Character Death, Background Relationships, Crossover, F/M, Family Drama, Name Changes, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:29:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26206456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roraruu/pseuds/roraruu
Summary: Marianne is six when she asks her mother what her surname is. Silque tells her she doesn’t have one.
Relationships: Python/Silque (Fire Emblem)
Series: Father’s Daughter [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897369
Kudos: 13





	string of letters (a tether and a fetter)

**Author's Note:**

> Idk where I’m going with this other than I’m sad over this au that i wrote for myslef and like 3 other people  
> As always, thank you for reading ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

“What is your surname Mama?”

Silque’s brow furrows at the question. Her daughter is only six. She knows little of the world, save for their cottage, her parents, the family’s horse and the church that they visit.

“Why do you wish to know darling?” Silque asks. 

It is a cold day under the Ethereal moon. Most days like this are spent making new clothes before the hearth where mother and daughter keep warm. Silque has taught her daughter a little bit of the needle, but not much. She knows very little of it herself, and what she does know is... well, graceless.

But those who wear or use her works would never say. Most are donated to the local church that she and her daughter attend. Others, her lover will take to market and sell so that they can buy supplies.

(He uses some as rags to oil and polish the furniture he makes. Silque only cares that he is using it, and in some little way, appreciating it.)

There is a specific routine that goes about when they spend these cold days making clothes and blankets. First, Silque will make sure the fire is tamed and warm; then she’ll make tea for herself, and a hot chocolate for Marianne. The little girl’s job ranges from knotting threads and picking fabrics to making sure the dye they use for items is ready for her mother. As they sip their drinks, Silque will tell her daughter of old Fódlan legends and fairytales, all memorized in her head.

In fact, Silque is telling the story of the founding of the Leicester Alliance, their home. Just as she speaks of the Five Great Lords, Marianne’s brow furrows.

“Does that mean you are not a lady?” She asks.

Silque almost laughs. “No dearest, I fear I am far from a lady or duchess.” She says. “I fear I am just a miss.”

Marianne stops rolling her ball of yarn. It falls in her lap. “Then what is your surname?”

The laughter fades from Silque’s mouth. She forces a smile instead. “I do not have one.” She answers. Her knitting needles do not stop for a second. 

“Why?”

Marianne looks at her mother so earnestly, so full of curiosity and wonder that Silque cannot fault her. 

“I was abandoned by my family.” She says. “At a monastery when I was still a baby. That’s why I have no surname.”

“Abandoned?”

“Yes.” Silque says. She watches as the gears turn in Marianne’s mind. Her little brow furrows. Her small hands clamp around the ball of yarn, her thumbs rubbing over the soft threads.

“Like a baby bird?” She asks.

Silque nods. “Yes.” 

“So... you do not have one?” Silque shakes her head. “Do I not have one?”

“What makes you think that dearest?”

Her head tucks into her chin so that she may stare at the ball of yarn. Her hands play with it. “The other children at church have them. And when asked, I said I didn’t know.” She mumbles softly. Her tone suggest that they teased her.

Silque shakes her head quickly, and lowers her needles. “No, no sweetness, you do.” She says before touching her daughter’s shoulder. She raises her chin. “I took your father’s last name and you did too.”

“You did?”

“Yes. After we decided to spend our lives together, I asked if he would share his name with me.” She says. “And when the Goddess blessed us with you, we gave you our shared name.”

Marianne’s brow furrows a little bit. Her eyes grow glassy “You are Marianne Thatcher.” Silque says, and wipes away her tears with the cuff of her sleeve. “It is your gift from the Goddess and us.”

The little girl sniffles and Silque holds her tightly for a moment. “Think of it as a gift Marianne.”

“Y-Yes, Mother.”

As her tears subside, Silque stands. “There is a proper way to greet people in our country.” She says. “Now since you’re older, I suppose I should teach it to you.”

“R-Really?” Marianne’s eyes widen. 

Silque nods and takes her daughter’s hand. “Now, in the future, when you meet someone of great importance, it is proper to bow or curtsey.” She says. Then she places a hand over her heart and gives a deep brow. “Like so.”

Marianne mirrors her mother, then looks up.

“And it is proper to give your whole name. Some people have second names, or a title like lord or lady.” Silque says. She takes the edge of her dress in her hand and gives a graceful curtsey to her daughter. In her strongest voice, she introduces herself. ”I am Sister Silque Thatcher of the Leicester Alliance, my lady.”

Marianne stares up at her mother with bewildered eyes. “Introducing yourself properly is the best way to make a good impression.” Silque says, then kneels before her daughter. “Now. Who are you?”

Marianne smiles and places one hand over her heart. With her other hand, she takes the edge of her frock in her hand and gives her mother a clumsy curtsey. 

“I am Marianne Thatcher.”

* * *

Marianne is fourteen when Margrave Edmund asks her to change her surname. 

She has grown thin and waif-like over the years. And is meek too. She rarely comes out of the Manor, save for her walk to church. Her appearances before the people are rare and some remark that she is a ghost. Others say that they do not know how she will lead the land when she comes of age.

Marianne does not want that responsibility. In truth, she hopes to be long gone before the Margrave should ever discuss that possibility with her.

But on this night, after another quiet supper between the two, he makes a comment of the future.

“I’d like to discuss possibilities. Of your future.” The Margrave says.

Her eyes don’t lift from her plate. “Yes uncle?” She asks.

“There is a private academy in the centre of Fódlan that I’d like you to attend.” He says. “I went there before, it is of high esteem and rank.”

Marianne wishes to disappear, not _foist_ herself into society.

“Their library is nice and their cathedral is quite the sight. I’m certain you’d like it, Marianne.”

She nods.

“Niece, would you like to attend this school?” He asks.

Marianne raises her gaze from her plate for a split second. In the back of her mind, she hears her mother gently chastise her, that it would be rude to ignore a question. She hears her father too, make a joke about scaring the nobility. 

She nods her head. “P-Perhaps someday.”

The Margrave narrows his gaze. “Marianne. I’m not a fan of being coy.”

“I know, Uncle.” She says, meeting his eyes.

“I’d like to adopt you.”

Her brow furrows. “Adopt me?”

“For all intents and purposes, your parents relinquished you to me. I am merely your guardian. But under adoption, I’d be able to more freedoms, like preparing you for a future.” 

_ But I have no future.  _ Marianne thinks.

“A-And you believe adopting me is the an-answer?”

“Yes. I do.” He says. “I’d like to give you a proper education Faerghus’s Royal School of Sorcery...”

Her heart catches in her rib cage. The Kingdom is in dire straits. It is not safe there.

“But think that is too drastic. I prefer the idea of the Officers Academy at Garreg Mach Monastery, in the centre of the continent. Their resources would give you the best education and prepare you to be to assist in governing Edmund territory.

“You want me to help you—” Her voice grows too loud. Her heart is beating a mile a minute. She swallows hard. “Lead your lands?”

“I have no heirs, Marianne.” The Margrave says. “Should you be willing, I would like to appoint that honour to you.”

_ I do not want that honour! _ Her mind cries out. She feels as though she’s about to burst into tears.

“But I could not unless you were my true family.”

“A-And as your ni-niece, I don’t?”

“Not yet.” He says. From his cloak pocket, he produces a patch of parchment. “Though I have the papers.” His eyes meet hers, piercing and harsh. “I know it is much to ask, but would you consider it?”

She nods. “There is nothing to consider Uncle.” She says softly. “You have housed me for four years now. And my parents are gone. You are the only family I have left.”

Her heart aches at the realization. She has no clue what’s become of her parents. If they are even living or dead. 

“Marianne. Do you realize what this means?”

She holds his gaze. “Wh-What?”

Her uncle’s words ring out like a death knell. The dining room falls silent. The heat from the fireplace becomes too hot, her frock too constricting. Her heart pounds hard and fast in her chest. For a second, she feels bile rise in her throat, like she’s about to throw up, and her skin feels like it’s about to crack from the fire’s dry heat.

“You would cease to be Marianne Thatcher.” He says gently. It doesn’t sound right on his tongue. She swears it’s a mistake.

Marianne opens her mouth to speak. Then, she swallows down the bile and feels her eyes water.

“I s-suppose I would.” She says.

“I know what a name can mean.” The Margrave is beside her now, kneeling with her hands in his. Like the first time they met. She has grow much but still feels so small in his magnanimous presence. “I understand this pain. But it shall strengthen you.”

Marianne cannot speak.

“Please. Consider it Marianne. If not for the future, but for your parents’ wishes.”

_ What do you know of my Mother and Father?!  _ She wants to scream at him.  _ You hate my Father! You only spoke to my Mother because she saved you! What do you know of their wishes for their daughter?! _

But she does not say that. Instead, she gropes for the papers. The Margrave brings them over and points out the large words that she cannot understand. At the end of the stack is a spot for her name to be printed. He calls for a servant to bring an ink pot and an owl feather.

“A name is an important thing.” He says. “It commands strangers’ respect and gives friends comfort. It can decide so many things.”

Marianne stares at the papers. 

Her parents’ gift to her; the surname Thatcher, a symbol of their union and their love for their child, will die. Her father’s side is all gone. Her mother has no last name; she wasn’t allowed to carry the same one as her uncle. There is no one left on either side of the family: mother or father. It has only been her for some time now.

“Some consider it a tether or a fetter, binding them to a bad fate.”

Her hand reaches for the feather. She initials with an _X_.

“Others, it can save.”

Tears blur her vision.

“And while it’s just a string of letters, it is important.”

The Margrave writes his own long name across the papers. Then, he looks to his niece.

“Just as introductions are.” The Margrave says. His eyes search Marianne’s. “Now. Who are you?”

_I am my father’s daughter. I am my mother’s daughter. I am the daughter of a carpenter and a cleric. I am Marianne Thatcher._

She swallows hard. 

“I am Marianne von Edmund.”


End file.
